


Sugar Pill

by MsBluesunflower



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Fix-It, Fluff, M/M, Post-Deposition, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 16:18:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3256421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsBluesunflower/pseuds/MsBluesunflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter how much Mark might seem like a robot, he is in fact human and therefore does get sick sometimes.<br/>Eduardo can't help wanting to take care of him. So some confrontation/declaration takes place.<br/>He also makes really good soup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugar Pill

It is true that Mark doesn’t get sick often. He does have this weird immunity to cold, which he used to abuse on a daily basis by running around in flip flops in the Boston snow. However, no matter how much of a robot Mark might appear to be, he is human after all. So when Mark finally catches (presumably from Dustin) the cold that has been going around the office for a week, nobody is too surprised.

And Mark, being _Mark_ , simply holes up in his office and huddles with his laptop and a box of Kleenex. A couple of sneezes can’t possibly stop him from finishing the new update. However, the sneezes and runny nose turn into headaches and violent coughs by the end of the day. And when Dustin shoves him into the car and drives him home, Mark doesn’t even threaten to fire him.

But the universe seems to be plotting against Mark that day. At 2 am, he gets a report that for some reason the site is slowing down alarmingly. And when Mark scrambles out of bed and gets Dustin on the phone, it’s completely down.

The bugs get fixed in an hour and the site goes back online. But Mark doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night and the entire day afterwards. He goes on a coding bender, eating close to nothing and only swallows a couple of Tylenols with Red Bull once in a while. He vaguely feels warm and cold at the same time, so he makes his PA adjust the thermostat almost every 15 minutes. She tries to persuade him to go home and even calls his mother, Dustin attempts to pry him out of his chair and take his temperature, and Chris comes in with sandwiches and orange juice but Mark doesn’t even glance at them. And when he finally does stand up the following morning, he collapses onto the floor and sees only darkness behind his eyelids.

 

Mark wakes up in his own bed. He regains consciousness slowly and vaguely remembers passing out in the office. His body feels overheated and his throat extremely dry. Dustin and Chris must have brought him home, he thinks. Mark notices after a moment that someone is sitting next to his bed, most likely asleep. He tries to make a sound, and it comes out quiet and strangled, but the person startles awake immediately and turns on the bedside light.

Mark blinks a several times to adjust to the light, before recognizing the person gazing at him.

“Wardo.” He chokes out, voice hoarse and broken, the familiar nickname slipping from his lips.

He doesn’t reply, but does help Mark to sit up. He then gives him a glass of water and even supports his hand while he gulps down half of the glass.

Mark leans back against the headboard, attempting to find the right words to say but fails miserably. It’s _totally_ the virus.

“Are you real? Or am I sick to the point of hallucination?”

Eduardo slams the glass down on the bedside table, and Mark winces.

“You’re not hallucinating, but you were close to it anyway.” Wardo grinds out, “What the fuck were you thinking, Mark? You had a 104 degree fever and you didn’t sleep for 30 fucking hours. You _passed out_ on the floor and you could’ve had a seizure. Why can’t you look after yourself like a fucking _adult_?”

“And why should you care?”

It comes out sounding defensive and hostile and just _wrong_ in every possible way. Then Eduardo refuses to look at him, the guarded, cold expression replacing the worry in his eyes. And Mark doesn’t like that at all.

“I still have a stake at Facebook. If anything happens to you it would affect me too.”

Eduardo is bad at lying, and Mark knows that better than anyone.

“C’mon, Wardo, you can do better than that.”

Eduardo glares at him. Mark doesn’t know if it’s for seeing through his lie or for calling him ‘Wardo’. Maybe both.

“Okay. You tell me then, since you’re such a genius. Why should I care about the asshole who kicked me out of _our_ company in the worst way possible and didn’t even apologize? Why should I care about someone who screwed me over as if all that we’ve been through was _bullshit_? Why should I fly across the country because that asshole got a fucking cold? Tell me, Mark, because I’d like to know, too.”

In the end Eduardo is practically yelling, and Mark grimaces because it gives him a headache.

Eduardo stops immediately and mutters an apology. Then Mark wants to shake him, shake him and ask him why he’s apologizing when Mark is the person who should be saying ‘ _sorry’_ and ‘ _thank you’_ and…‘ _I need you’._

“I should go.” He stands up and grabs his jacket, and Mark notices that he’s not even wearing a suit. “There’s soup in the kitchen and Chris should be here in an hour.”

“Wait. Don’t. ” Mark finally manages to say, almost too quiet to be heard, “I… I missed you, too.”

He stops.

“And I’ll apologize for everything, if that’s what you want.”

Mark’s shivering and he’s pretty sure it’s not just because of the goddamn cold.

Eduardo turns around to look at him.

“If that’s what _I_ want? God, Mark, you don’t even fucking _mean it._ ”

“What is the point? Apologizing doesn’t fix anything, Wardo. I can’t go back and rewrite history—Because if I could, I would’ve changed it so that you were never a part of Facebook from the start. Then…” There’s a lump in his throat and he swallows hard, “Then it couldn't have torn us apart.”

When Mark looks up at him, the expression on Eduardo’s face softens visibly and he sighs heavily, shaking his head.

“I hate you sometimes, you know.” He says, sounding not the least angry but more like a mixture of exasperated and affectionate. He sits down on the edge of Mark’s bed, so Mark takes it as a good sign.

Mark nods. “I’m surprised that you don’t hate me all the time.”

Eduardo chuckles darkly, “I hate how you can still make me love you after everything.”

And Mark thinks, _Oh._

The surprised expression on Mark’s face must’ve given him away. Eduardo frowns, contemplative, “I thought you knew. Everyone knew.”

“No. Or, at least, I wasn’t sure.” Mark stares down at his blanket, gazing hard at the blue and white stripe pattern as if they look different somehow, “I did hope, though.”

“Did you?” Eduardo breathes, leaning in.

“Yeah.” Mark mutters a response, finally gathering the courage to look him in the eye—those warm, chocolate brown eyes that he sees every night in his dreams. “But you were dating one girl after another so I thought it was just…”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because then Eduardo’s lips are on his, and it’s every bit as good as Mark’s ever imagined, soft and tender and wet and all he can feel is Wardo. He tastes like jetlag and coffee and _home_ , and it’s familiar like the sleepless nights in Kirkland, yet new and exciting beyond compare _._ Eduardo’s hand caresses his cheeks like he’s something fragile and delicate, like he might slip from his grasp like a fistful of sand. So Mark puts his hand on the back of his neck like they can’t get close enough.

“Mark.” Eduardo pulls back, earning a glare from Mark, “You’re still sick.”

Mark huffs in annoyance and rolls his eyes. But then Eduardo beams at him, running his hand through Mark’s curls fondly and Mark thinks, well, they have all the time in the world.

Eduardo goes to the kitchen and brings back chicken soup. He insists that it’s takeout, and when Mark raises an eyebrow at him after taking a sip, Eduardo blushes hard and Mark laughs. (Because really? How could Mark _not_ remember what it tastes like from college? Eduardo makes really good soup.)

When Dustin and Chris arrive from the office, Mark and Eduardo are curled up on the couch watching a movie. (Mark blows his nose every 30 seconds and Eduardo just smiles and keeps handing him Kleenex.) The door opens and Dustin jumps at the sight of them cuddling, and squeals something like _MOM AND DAD ARE BACK TOGETHER OMG IS THIS REAL LIFE OR IS THIS FANTASY._ Chris laughs, hugs both of them and drags Dustin out the door.

Later, Eduardo slips in bed with Mark and wraps both arms around him. Mark murmurs, half-asleep but meaning every word, “I need you.”

He presses a kiss to his temple and whispers, “I’m here for you.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because I got awfully sick this week (for working myself too hard and drinking too much red bull), but sadly there was nobody taking care of me, nor was there chicken soup (MEH).  
> Also because I lost a bet with a group of people betting whether Jewnicorn would say hi to each other at Sundance, when in the end NEITHER OF THEM WENT, GAH.  
> I hope you guys enjoyed it :)


End file.
